Feeding Time

It was time for Bebe to see a pediatrician, so a nurses took her from me. I really didn't want to let her go all by herself, so I asked my husband if he would go with her. Yes, we were just a little paranoid about baby snatchers, and had made a vow before we ever entered the hospital. One of us would be with our daughter at all times. As they left the room, it was time for me to get moving. I didn't need any help getting to my feet, and was easily able to walk on slightly wobbly legs. I was able to get cleaned up a little, and then I got into a wheelchair, and was taken to a recovery room.
I have mentioned that the pain was minimal, and really it was. I had been offered pain medication on several occasions, and turned it down flat. I really didn't see the need for it.
As we turned the corner I could see my family at the far end of the hall. They were all standing around my little girl who was being given a bath by the pediatrician. As they wheeled me up the doctor told me that she was very healthy, very alert, and very beautiful. I was glad to hear it all. Then we entered my recovery room. I was surprised to see that it was light outside, and not just light, but it was getting close to dusk. Everyone was very eager to hold Bebe. In the birthing room only my husband, her grandmothers, and I had been given this privilege.
As I have said, my brother, and his wife drove about five hours, and had been waiting all day to see us. They both had to work the next day, so my brother was the first to hold her. As he took my daughter, his very first niece, into his arms his eyes welled up with tears. Before having Bebe I always thought that brand new babies looked a little like aliens, and my brother has always known this to be one of my opinions. He said, "She is so beautiful. Do you think she looks like an alien?" I said no, and since having my own child I see that beautiful innocence in all babies. Being a mother changes everything.
As my brother, and his wife held Bebe I could see it in their eyes, they were both goners. I knew it wouldn't be too long before they had a little one of their own.
After holding the baby everyone started to leave. My husband was staying with us, but he walked everyone out to their cars, and thanked them for being there.
While he did this I got a snack and a big jug of water, and settled in for another feeding. This time Bebe and I were on our own. She was eager to latch on, but something was wrong. This time it was incredibly painful. We tried again, and again, and again, but it just wasn't right. I won't go into tall the gory details, but everything about the way she was latching on was wrong.
I decided to call a nurse before I did any real damage. When she came into my room I sensed that I might have problems as she said,"What do you need now?" What did she mean? I hadn't called her before. I shook it off and proceeded to ask for help. I explained that I didn't think that my daughter was latching on properly, and I needed help. She watched as I attempted to latch her on. Again she latched on, but in a very painful way. The nurse said,"So what is the problem?" I said that she wasn't latched on properly because I was in so much pain. She then said,"Well Sweat heart, I'm afraid I have bad news, She is latched on properly, and if you want to breast feed her you are just going to have to toughen up."
What I thought: Toughen up! Really! I just went through 30 hours of back labor, the last six in complete silence, including a completely silent birth, and you are telling me to toughen up!
What I said: Really, because in the books I have read it says that it will be uncomfortable, but not painful, and look, when I break the suction the area looks pinched, and flat not round, and elongated.
She looked, but she already had her mind made up that I was a huge baby, or maybe she just didn't know anything about breast feeding. She said,"It looks fine to me. It's time to toughen up." Then she began to leave the room. I stopped her. I thought she must be right. I thought she must know what she was talking about so I decided to push through, and take her advice, but if breast feeding was going to be this painful I was going to need some pain medication. I asked the nurse to bring me some. She rolled her eyes, and said,"You can't have any, because they gave you some right before you left your birthing room. You have to wait eight hours." Now I was getting angry. I tried to remain as polite as possible. I said, "No, they tried to give me pain medication before I left the birthing room. I turned it down, because I didn't need it. If breast feeding is going to be this painful I want the medication." She rolled her eyes again, and said she would check into it. She came back about five minutes later with the medication, and her attitude was even worse. If anyone had the right to be snotty it was me! I was right she was wrong! As she was leaving the room she turned and said, I want you to look at the clock on the wall, because it will be eight hours before you can have any more pain medication." I was stunned by the way she was acting.
Through the night the feedings continued, each more terribly painful than the one before. Each time I called for help. I didn't always get Nurse Snotty, but everyone assured me that my baby was latched on properly in spite of my complaints. I tried to explain that this pain was much worse than any other pain I had ever had. It was worse that all the hours of back labor, it was worse than actually giving birth. It was in fact the most terrible pain I had ever experienced, and I couldn't get anyone to believe me.

My Father

Soon I heard voices in the hall. Everyone was coming back. I woke up. A nurse entered the room and said it was time to move to recovery, and she began making the necessary preparations. I now had feeling in my legs, and was surprised that the pain really wasn't bad. I thought it would be terrible once the epidural was gone, but it really wasn't bad at all. It was slightly uncomfortable. I count myself very lucky. I didn't need any stitches at all. Thank you prenatal yoga!
Now this goes a little off subject for a moment, but I feel like I need to mention this part before I can continue with the story. A few years ago, my father was very sick. He was driving from my parents home to the doctor. The dive was about thirty minutes. He was in terrible pain. So much, in fact, that he passed out while driving, and lost control of his truck. It flipped end over end about three times, and landed on the other side of the highway.
My mother had been visiting my brother and me. We lived about four hours from our hometown. She was headed home that same day. She was planning to meet my father at the doctors office. She left my home at about 7:00 A.M. I got ready for the day and headed to my 8:30 A.M. history class. When I returned to my house at about 10:30 A.M. the phone was ringing. I had a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach, like I had just swallowed a bolder. A voice inside me told me to prepare myself. This was bad news. I thought it would be my mother telling me that the doctor had said that my dad only had a few months to live. I knew his health was rapidly declining, and he didn't have much longer on this earth, but you always think that maybe it wont be that serious, or maybe the doctors can help to prolong his life. Anyway, I took a deep breath, and answered the phone, prepared for the inevitable bad news. My uncle was on the other end of the phone. Now I was really panicking. He very calmly said that my father had been in a car accident. He said he was fine. He had a few broken ribs, but he was going to be fine. He said that the only problem was that they couldn't find my mother. I told him that she was waiting for my dad at the doctors office thirty minutes from home. I gave him her cell phone number, and hung up the phone. I started trying to call my mother, but I only had a few minutes before I needed to go to my chemistry lab, and violin lesson. I think I was in shock, because it just seemed like life was the only thing stopping me from sitting down and crying, or jumping in my car, and speeding home as fast as I could. Instead I just went on with my day as I normally would. I put a load of laundry in the washer, and tried to eat. I was preparing to leave when one of my cousins called, and told me about the wreck, and said that everyone was trying to get my mother on the phone but no one could. Then she said that another one of my cousins just got her on the phone. I said that I would be in class for a few hours. Then I would see if my brother was still in town, and if he didn't have to work I would see if he wanted to ride home with me. I called my husband to let him know what was going on, and I was out the door.
I was admittedly a little distracted in class, and my violin lesson went by very slowly, as I very mechanically played my scales exercises. I was working on Vivaldi's Four Seasons Spring, but it sounded more like a deep long dragging winter covered in molasses.
As I was leaving my lesson I saw my brother. He was just finishing his classes for the day. I walked quickly to him and called his name. He stopped, and was shocked by the look on my face. He asked me what was wrong. I was thinking that he was handling things much better than I was. He then asked me if our mom had left my house yet. I thought this was a very strange question, but I answered anyway. He said that he was going to call her to see how my dad's appointment went as soon as he got home. It finally sunk in. He didn't know about the accident yet. Of course he didn't. He had been in class all day. I didn't want to tell him, but I knew I had to. It took everything I had to get through the story without breaking down. He began to get upset. He wondered why I hadn't called him as soon as I heard. I explained and asked if he would be interested in driving home with me. I had planned to go out and then come back the next day. He said that he would drive, and he would meet me at my apartment in 30 minutes. I rushed home, and packed a bag, then I emailed my professors to let them know that if I wasn't in class there was a reason.
As we were driving home we talked about a lot of different things, but it always came back to our dad. My Brother kept asking me if our dad was going to be alright. Now this may seem completely awful, I know he was just looking for reassurance, but I felt I had to tell the truth. I said that everyone I had talked to seemed optimistic, but I was of a different opinion.
This may seem silly, but I had a premonition as I was looking through my Frank Sinatra song book a few weeks prior to the accident. I was sitting on my cedar chest in my bedroom, and I was doing some sight singing. I came to a song that I hadn't heard before, which is strange because it is one of his most famous songs. I decided to read through it. As I was singing it tears began to stream down my face, and I had the impression that I would be singing this song in the not too distant future. I knew I would be singing it for my father's funeral.
I didn't tell my brother this. I told him that every one said he was fine, with just a few broken ribs. Then I told him that due to our father's poor health before the accident. I was preparing myself for the worst. He saw this as pessimistic. I laughed, as I thought of one of our father's more memorable quotes, and said,"I'm not an optimist, or a pessimist. I'm a realist." We both laughed, and then we cried.
We arrived at the hospital before we were ready. I hated walking in, and was very glad that I wasn't alone. We found my father's room, and reunited with our mother, who had left my home earlier that day, in what seemed like a much simpler time. My father looked surprisingly good considering the day he had lived through. He was awake, and in a good mood. My brother walked over and gave him a gentle hug, as he began to cry. Next I walked over. My father said,"It must be my lucky day! I get a hug from my favorite cold hearted girl!" I laughed, and teased,"Dad, you know I'm hard hearted, not cold hearted, there is a big difference!" My heart was about to be permanently softened. This is one of the last things I would ever say to my father.
Soon my father needed his rest, and my brother and I hadn't eaten in a very long time. My mother walked us out to the car, and as we were walking she said that when they did the ex rays, they found a mass in my father's lungs. They didn't know what it was, but it didn't look good. They couldn't do any tests until he was stronger.
My brother and I went to visit our father a few more times before we had to go back, and I was always surprised by the number of people there to see him. We went home and tried our best to resume our lives. Things seem blurry, like I was sleep walking through my life.
One day my mother called with more bad news, my father had developed pneumonia in both lungs, and he was in ICU. He didn't like all the machines he was hooked up to and he kept ripping off the different tube. a few hours passed, maybe a day, and my mother called to say that he was in a coma. I don't remember for sure, but it seems like the coma was induced to treat him. I might be way off on that.
My brother and I decided that he better get home. There were problems. I had two exams the next day, and a group project was going to be started. I had to speak with my professors, and schedule make up exams for a later date. I was excused from the group project.
This time my husband was with us. We couldn't all go into the room at the same time, so we each took a few moments to talk to him. It seamed futile to me, but I told him I loved him anyway. Then I just stood there silently holding his hand for a few minutes while I cried. Then it was time to go.
We again returned to our lives, work, school, but not for long. There was hope when he was released from ICU. This hope was short lived. On an evening in early October it was either the fifth, or the sixth our mother called, and told us that my father was preparing to exit this mortal life, and we needed to get home right away. It was dark when we left, and it seemed like the journey would never come to and end. The traffic was terrible, and progress was slow. When we were about thirty minutes from the hospital my brother got a flat tire on his new car, and he and my husband couldn't figure out how to change it. While they were looking the clock was ticking, and it was getting close to midnight. My brothers phone began to ring, and I couldn't find it, but I knew what was happening. We got moving again, and as we were entering a small town a few minutes from the hospital phones began to ring again. Our father passed away a few minutes before or after midnight. My brother blamed himself for not making it in time to say goodbye, but I thought we had been granted mercy. We didn't have to witness the death of our father.
When we finally arrived at the hospital my fathers room was filled with friends and family. The room was dark, and we spent a few minutes saying goodbye. Then we left the hospital, and headed right back the way we had come. My make up exam was scheduled for seven in the morning, and we had to get clothes. We would be staying with my mother for almost a week.
A few days later we had the funeral. I spoke a few words about my father and sang the song that I had been prompted to sing, "My Way". I wasn't the only one who thought that the song was so much like my father. One of his closest friends told my mother that he knew the perfect song for my father. He was surprised when my mother told him that was the very song I had chosen to sing.
My father was amazing. He loved to talk, and debate(argue). It was always difficult to say goodbye to him, because he always had one more story to tell, or one more argument to make. He was kind with a rough exterior. He loved children, and animals. He never told me things like,"Wash that makeup off!" or, "You aren't leaving the house dressed in that!" He would always tell me,"If you've got it, flaunt it,and Babes you've got it!" Then he would laugh and hug me. Wow, I miss him!
While I was pregnant I missed him a lot. I always wished that he would be able to meet my child. I thought about him a lot, and on my harder days, I would hear his voice in my head telling me I still had,"It" Then I would look in the mirror and laugh myself silly.
As they were preparing to move us to recovery my husband, and my in-laws returned from dinner. My father-in-law sat down by my bed, and said, Kaysie, I think I know why it took Bebe so long to get here. She was sitting up in heaven talking to her grandpa, and he had lots of last minute advice about how to handle her mama. Do you know what I think he said right before he let her go? He said,'Always remember, If you've got it, flaunt it, and Babes, you've got it!" I laughed and felt hot copper tears welling in my eyes, because I knew he was right.

Learning to Share

I really didn't feel like sharing my baby with anyone. I'm not even sure how long I greedily held her. Suddenly my mother-in-law asked my husband how he was doing. Until this point he had remained silent. He answered, and the baby opened her eyes wide, and looked him straight in the eye. People say that is impossible, but having witnessed it I disagree. It was like she had been searching for him.
I knew it was time to share her with the other person who helped create her. The man who made sure I was well cared for. The man who suffered sympathy morning sickness with me. The man who had gained a few pounds of baby weight, just so that I would feel better. The man who never complained when I wanted my monthly corn dog, and the only place to get them was a thirty minute drive from our house. The man who would take me to a drive-in two towns over at midnight so that I could get a banana split. The man who had suffered every inconvenience right along with me. He had done his time. He deserved a big reward for his efforts. I relinquished Bebe to a nurse who weighed, measured, and cleaned her up. They wrapped her in a blanket, and put her hat on her head. Bebe swaddeled, with her huge eyes and little hat reminded me of a catapiller which earned her the nickname of Bug. They handed Bebe to the outstretched arms of her loving father. It was like watching a long awaited reunion. Soon everyone came into the room to meet Miss Bebe. My doctor said that she was surprised by how big Bebe was. She said that she never expected me to have a baby weighing over six pounds, and Bebe had shattered her expectations at a whopping seven pounds, and ten ounces. This excitement over her large size was very short lived. I mention it because my little one was not always off the charts small. There was a time when her size was perfectly average.
Then the doctor call the lactation nurse into the room, and everyone started going their separate ways. My Aunt, and uncle headed back home, and my mother, brother, and sister-in-law went to our house to get cleaned up, and find something to eat. My mother-in-law, and father-in-law stepped out of the room to call my husband's siblings.
I thought I was prepared to breast feed. I thought it would be easy. I thought the worst pain was over. I was wrong again. We had a very difficult time getting Bebe to latch on. Once latched on I didn't know how to get her off. There was no problem, because the lactation nurse knew exactly how to help me. I still hadn't registered what was going on. So the room was filled with nervous laughter.
The first feeding took place at about 4:30 P.M. So all you mamas know my feeding schedule. Bebe was supposed to eat every two hours.
Now it was time for my feeding. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since any of us had eaten. My mother-in-law held Bebe while I devoured an enormous plate of spaghetti accompanied by a salad, garlic bread, and apple juice. I didn't even know I was hungry! Yes, it was hospital food, but at that point I felt like I was dining at a gourmet restaurant except for the unfortunate hospital decor.
After eating my husbands parents dragged him away for dinner. On their way out they turned the lights down. Suddenly I realized that I could feel a fuzzy tingling in my feet. It was so quiet. No doctors, no nurses, no one but me and sweet little Bebe. Soon she drifted off to sleep. I reluctantly put her in the bassinet, and wheeled it as close to me as I could. I held her little balled up hand in mine, and allowed sleep to take me.

My Mother

As I lay in the bed already recovering. I looked over and saw my mother, but this time with new eyes. This time with the eyes of a newborn mother. I was thinking that she went through all of this same stuff to bring me into the world. I have always loved my mother. That was nothing new or strange. Everyone loves my mother. Looking at my beautiful little baby girl, and at my own mother I had a greater understanding of the meaning of love.
I suddenly knew why mothers do the things that, as children, we think of as silly, ridiculous or even crazy. I suddenly knew why my mother got so upset when I was eleven, and I forgot to come home from a friends house until 9:30. I knew in an instant why, at fourteen, she didn't like the idea of me walking to the high school to watch a soccer game with my friends, and catching a ride back home with some older boys who were really nice, and just wanted to help out. I knew why, at eighteen, she cried when I got on a plain headed for Europe for a month.
For the first time I realized how much my mother really loved me. I was in awe. As we sat there looking at each other, and the new little link in our mother daughter chain, My mother said,"Was it worth it?" The only words that I could speak were, "Just one more time Mama!" She began to cry.
Now I have to explain. This may seem like it makes no sense. Did I mean I only wanted one more child? Did it mean that I could only endure that kind of pain one more time? Was I crazy for the pain, and medication? I will tell what it means.
In my hometown there is a lumbering giant of a water slide. This thing is an enormous outdoor monstrosity. It was called The Aqua Noodle. In order to go down this slide you had to walk up what seemed like an endless mountain of steps. The ride down was very fast, and there was no pool to speak of. So you were either climbing stairs, or going down the slide.
My mother took my brother and me one hot summer day. I couldn't have been more than three. I was very small, and very scared. I didn't want to go, and as usual I was crying, and my brother was embarrassed. I was always such a baby. Climbing the stairs took forever. I was crying and whining the entire way. My legs hurt... my feet were tired... I didn't want to wait in line anymore... I was hot you name it, I was crying about it.
When we finally reached the top I was scared to death. My brother was going by himself. When it was his turn he simply hopped into the tube. The rushing water carried him away so quickly. Before I could blink he was around the first turn. I could hear him screaming, and laughing at the same time. I began to scream, and kick and cry even harder. I wanted to escape, but my mother there by my side assured me that it would be wonderful. So I sat on her lap, took a deep breath, and we were off. It was the best feeling ever. I was twisting and turning, laughing, crying, and screaming. It was out of control in a sublime way. At one point I remember hitting my knee on the tube. It hurt, and I got a bruise from it.
Soon I could see the end of the tunnel. I was scared again, and I didn't want the ride to be over, but there was very little I could do about it at that point. All I could do was hold my breath, and hope for the best.
As we hit the water it stung my nose, and eyes, and my legs struck the bottom of the pool with a painful thud. As my mother pulled me from the water she asked me,"Was it worth it?" I'm sure you can guess what my answer was,"Just one more time Mama!"
One more time turned into at least ten more times. It was worth it.
Having my first child almost parallelled that first water slide experience. As I lay there breathless, with a tingling in my feet that meant I would soon be feeling the pain again, I knew it was worth every tear filled, painful, terrifying minute.